A Scandal in Belgravia [Reader Insert]

Dearest Sherlock

     (Ugh I can't believe I'm saying this but writing this crap is actually something that's keeping me from killing myself so here we go)

     Finally, all the boring mingling got to you. You needed to entertain yourself... And, looking at what Molly had brought, you realized that you had a way. You stood up from your place on the couch. "I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him."

     "What?" Molly blinked. "Sorry, what?"

     "In fact, you're seeing him this very night, and are giving him a gift."

     "Take a day off," John muttered from where he sat with Jeannette (that was her name, right?). (That awkward moment when you have to add 'that's her name right' as if it was in character but actually you seriously can't remember irl)

    Lestrade came to you with an extra cup in hand. "Shut up and have a drink," he suggested, handing the alcohol (Thomas Jefferson would approve) to you. You took the cup but only set it down.

     "Oh come on," you said, "surely you've all seen the present at the top of those heavily-packed holiday bags that Molly has brought." You approached the bag of question. "Carefully wrapped with a bow. All others are slapdash at best. It's for someone special then! Moving on so quickly after Jim the gay psychopathic bomber? Hardly a good idea, is it? " You plucked the present from the bag and looked from it to Molly, who was, at this point, quite confused and a bit offended at your mention of Moriarty. "The shade of red echoes your lipstick- either an unconscious association or one you're deliberately trying to encourage."

     Suddenly, Sherlock was beside you, looking at the gift with bright grayish-green eyes. He was excited to have something to deduce. "Either way," he started, "Miss Hooper has love on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all. That suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn. And the fact that she's seeing him tonight is evident from the clothes and make-up that she's wearing, probably trying to compensate-" as Sherlock spoke, you took a peek at the tag. Oh frick- "for the size of her lips and breasts...." Sherlock trailed off when you shoved the gift into his arms with a huff. You fell back onto the couch and actually took a swig of the drink Lestrade had given you.

     Just as you had, Sherlock looked at the tag. And just as you had, he read the cursive words written there: 

          Dearest Sherlock

          Love Molly xxx    

     You remembered when you'd once threatened Sherlock and told him he'd better not hurt Molly. And now you were part of the reason she was upset.

     Molly was trying not to cry. "You- you two always say some horrible things, every time. Especially you, Sherlock... Always." She choked back tears. "Always."
     Sherlock seemed to be having some sort or argument within himself for a moment, but it passed. Then, to the complete and utter surprise to everyone in the room, he murmured, "I am sorry. Forgive me."
     John looked up with an extremely disturbed face, just as confused as you. Did Sherlock Holmes just apologise? And ask for forgiveness? He cocked his head as if he wasn't certain he had heard Sherlock correctly.
     "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." Sherlock planted a peck of a kiss on Molly's cheek.

          And then there was a woman's moan.

     Molly blinked and took a step back, blushing furiously. "No- I- that wasn't me!" she stammered.

     "No," you said, pulling out your phone, "it was me."

     Lestrade stared at you in horror. "Oh gosh, really?"

     Another moan.

     Sherlock signed. "Our phones."

     "Fifty-seven," John muttered.

     You looked at the text. "Sorry, what?"

     "Fifty-seven of those texts, the ones I've heard."

     It read, Mantelpiece. That was it.

     "Thrilling, that you've been counting," Sherlock remarked as he read his text.

     You looked at the text once more and then realised... oh. Okay. You looked up to the fireplace, and sitting on the mantel was a small, blood-red package.

     Sherlock saw the package too. He picked up the box, which was tied shut with what seemed to be a thin, wiry rope, and looked it over. Sherlock looked up at you and mouthed Irene. (No dip, Sherlock.)

     Sherlock wore a grim expression. "Excuse me."

     He left to his room.

     You followed.

     (Heyyyy future a/n note so like when I was writing this, I was in a really weird mood. I've been on and off with my will to live. *le shrug* Just explaining. Not that anyone asked. First it was just like a weekly thing, and now it's every day. I often start out completely dead, then switch to okay at around 7-8 am, and then back to trash until like 10 am and then I keep going like that until maybe 3 pm. And then at maybe 4:30 I feel really sleepy- not even tired, just sleepy- and I can't write or anything because I just can't make myself do it. And then later, if/when I get my energy back up I go write and I enjoy it. *sigh* My brain needs to pick a side. Preferably the sufficiently energetic and happy one.

     Oh and also remember to be posting those rlly sarcastic and/or snarky and/or funny and/or reactive and/or whatever the heck you want comments bcos I read through every single one and just smile to myself because I think hey, I'm not the only one who thinks like this (bcos everyone always tells me I gotta blunt sense of humour and am always so sarcastic that they can't tell when I switch between sarcastic and snarky to serious. ANd most of my comments go over their heads anyway so people prob thing I'm weird. Goshdarnit I'm rambling at 10:30 pm on a chapter I haven't even worked on today. I think I finished this one up yesterday.

     Also, I'm going to be going on a short trip over the weekend, and so will not be able to post until I get back. I'm sorry.)